


Odi et Amo

by fineandwittie



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: M/M, Random References to Armie Hammer and Henry Cavill, Rated for swearing, actors!au, kinkmeme fill, metafic, not going to lie this prompt made me think of Performance in a Leading Role, somewhat ooc
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-29
Updated: 2015-08-29
Packaged: 2018-04-17 18:59:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4677695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fineandwittie/pseuds/fineandwittie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Napoleon Solo is the son of a famous actor and an Olympic medalist. He's been famous his whole life. Illya Kuryakin is a street rat from the slums who's finally made something of himself. They're costarring in a biopic and the Director, Alexander Waverly, is so completely done with the unwanted sexual tension that he's ready to snap.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Odi et Amo

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta'd fill to a Kinkmeme prompt. I've never written in this fandom before. I own nothing. BUT GODDAMN IT THERE BETTER BE A SEQUEL.
> 
> Also, Waverly is a weird combo of Waverley-Oleg-Sanders. I didn't really go for anything specific with him.

“Cut! Guys! I’ve told you time and time again. There should not be UST between your characters. Henry Cavill and Armie Hammer were friends, not lovers. What is the fucking deal?”

Napoleon’s mouth was twisted in a sneer. “I really have no idea what you’re talking about, Alexander. There’s no sexual tension here. Tension, certainly, but mostly because the Red Peril here is impossible to work off.”

Illya’s face might have been made from stone. “And you’re so much better? The only reason you even got this part is because of your family.”

Napoleon stiffened, entire body going rigid. He told himself every time he showed up to audition, every time his agent called, every red carpet and morning TV show, it wasn’t just his name. It wasn’t just because he was the son of Tom Hiddleston, Hollywood royalty, and Hope Solo, Olympic athlete. He could act, damn it! He could! He was good at it. It was an insult that Illya had used before, but it sparked a nerve and he couldn’t quite prevent himself from responding. “Oh really? And you think you’re so much better than me, then? You’re nothing but a stuntman. All you’re good for is knocking your thick head into things and being room meat.”

And of course, that was Illya’s sore spot. He’d worked his way up from nothing. Hadn’t gone to acting school and even majored in it in college. Hadn’t even gone to college. He’d worked odd jobs throughout his late teens. Sold himself a time or twice, down in West L.A, because he had to eat, right? You had to do what you had to do. But he was tall, really tall, and stronger than average. So when a call came from one of the studios for a stuntman who was well over six foot, he’d gone. The jobs hadn’t stopped after that, because realistically? It didn’t matter what he looked like or what color his hair was. There was only a handful of stuntmen who could double for the tallest of actors. He wasn’t shamed of it. Any of it. But late at night, when even L.A. went to sleep, he’s stare at the ceiling in his bedroom and wonder if maybe he wasn’t as good as he thought he was. Maybe he really should have just stuck with being a stuntman. It was steady work and he didn’t really deserve any better.

Illya could feel his nostrils flare. He narrowed his eyes and took a menacing step forward. “Listen, you—“

“There! That right there!” Napoleon and Illya both froze for a beat, before turning to look at the Director with wide-eyed confusion. “It’s in your body language. Illya, even when you’re playing Armie, you try to physically intimidate him. You use your height to try and establish dominance or something. But it always puts you too far into his personal space. And, you, Napoleon, you don’t back down, back away. You always stand your ground, but that also means that you let him close, let him loom over you. It’s always really intense and it looks like he’s going to kiss you. You both gravitate toward one another. You lean in, angle your bodies, keep glancing at each other like you can’t really look away.”

The two actors gaped at him. Glanced at each other and promptly flushed and look away. The Director looked like he was fighting a laugh. “Guys, I know you think you hate one another, but really. Thin line and all that. We won’t be able to get through filming if you keep this up. We’ll accidentally re-write history. Armie Hammer was happily married with a kid, for fuck’s sake. We can’t have a movie where he and his best friend secretly want to fuck.” He sighed, still looking vaguely amused. Illya and Napoleon were both pointedly not looking at each other. “Alright. That’s it. Follow me.”

He turned on his heel and walked off set. Bewildered, but still stinging with humiliation and anger, the two actors followed.

The director stopped in front of one of the unused trailers at the far end of the studio lot. “In.”

Napoleon entered first. Illya skulked in and turned to have the door shut in his face. He looked back at Napoleon in horror when the click of a lock being thrown echoed in the trailer. Napoleon shoved him and side and fumbled at the door, but there wasn’t a latch inside the trailer. “What the fuck is this, Alexander? You can’t do this!”

A laugh sounded muffled through the door. “I absolutely can. You can stay in there until you work out your differences or fuck each other. I don’t care. But fix this.”

The two stood, dumbfounded, and listened as his footsteps faded away.

 

———

 

Napoleon wasn’t sure how long they stood staring at the door of the trailer. Eventually, it occurred to him that Illya could probably just kick the door out and they’d be free. Out of jobs, but free of each other too. He shot the man a considering look. He was basically a giant wall of muscle. It would probably work. But no. He wanted this job. This movie was supposed to be the biopic of the year. The critics were already buzzing about it and he wouldn’t walk away from something like that. He connected to Henry on some emotional level that he hadn’t experienced before, the start-stop of the other’s career and all the almost before he finally succeeded, and Napoleon couldn’t abandon the part to someone else. 

The towering hulk of muscle flopped onto the couch and shut his eyes.

Napoleon sighed and sprawled into the single armchair. He sat and formulated a dozen ways to get out of the trailer while keeping his job. He discarded all of them. Waverly was right: they needed to fix this. “Well, Peril, looks like we’re going to be here for a while.”

Illya grunted. “You know, Cowboy, if you’d just stop being such a legacy diva about everything, we’d probably get on.”

Bristling, Napoleon smiled, showing all his teeth. “If you hacked that chip off your shoulder, maybe we would.”

Illya arched on the couch to tilt his head up and glare at Napoleon. He snarled.

Napoleon, distracted by the long line of the other’s body, stretched and on display, barely noticed.

“Look, pretty boy, I’m not the problem here. If you weren’t so entitled—“

That snapped Napoleon’s attention back to the point. “No.”

The single word stopped Illya in his tracks. He blinked. “What? No what?”

Napoleon sighed, thought about someone else playing Henry, and sat up. “Listen, this is not just me. I’m not the only problem. I’ll…” He swallowed, thick and painful. The words were sharp and bitter on his tongue. They burned in his stomach. “I’ll admit that I’m part of the problem. But it’s not just me. It takes two to tango, as they say. Look…I want this job. I really want this job and if we keep on like this, neither of us will be on this project, okay? So…we need to fix it.”

Illya’s eyelids fluttered in what Napoleon thought was a parody of coquettishness. Then he stared. “Are you…Did you just admit to being wrong about something?”

Napoleon ground his teeth and looked away. “This is not easy for me, you know.” He exhaled sharply. “I realize that you don’t like me, but there has to be something we can—“

“I don’t like you? Cowboy, you hated me from the start.”

Napoleon laughed, an acrid sound that made Illya sit up and twist around to stare at him.”

“Illya, the first time we met, you completely ignored me and asked your agent, point blank, why she’d told you that you’d be working with an up-and-comer on the project. You sounded…God, like I was the worst sort of slime you could encounter. That kind of thing generally makes it difficult for me to be nice to people.” If he was being honest, though he usually wasn’t, that had hurt. More than he’d ever admit to anyone. He’d looked up to see Illya enter the room and he’d liked the man immediately. He was incredibly handsome and there was a kindness lurking in his face that you don’t usually see in people in the industry. And then Illya had spotted him and, well…It had all gone downhill from there. 

Illya blinked, his eyes owlish. “You aren’t an up-and-comer though!”

Napoleon snorted and his lip curled back. “Yes, I am quite aware of what you think of my acting abilities, thanks.”

“No! I mean…You’re already established. You’re…Gaby told me that my costar was a nobody. You’re…you’re Napoleon Solo. You’d be famous if all you did was car commercials for the rest of your life. You’ve already been nominated for a Golden Globe for god’s sake. You are not an up-and-comer. You’ve already arrived.”

Napoleon blinked. “Excuse me?”

“I thought…when I saw it was you, I realized that…well, you’re you. Everyone is going to be talking about you. You’re going to get any nomination that might come out of this project. I’m just…room meat.” He sounded frustrated and ashamed, but there was a hopelessness in Illya’s eyes as he stared at Napoleon that he’d seen before. 

“Illya…that’s…That’s bullshit.” Illya flinched as though he’d been slapped and his face went blank. “No, seriously. I know I say things like that all the time, but it’s not because they’re true. Even if I’ve been…what did you say? A Legacy Diva? I’ve loved working with you, Peril. You’re incredibly talented. If this film reflects even a quarter of your talent, everyone in the industry will realize that you’re the one to beat. For nominations and for roles. My god. I…Look, you’re probably right. I probably did get this part because of who I am. My father. But it’s been…a learning experience of sorts. I’m..good at suave and really that’s about it. But you? You’re a powerhouse.”

Illya was gaping at him. “You are joking, yes? I only say that because it seems to make you angry. You’re an incredible actor, Cowboy. I love your work. I…” He flushed a dull red and look away. “I have your last three films on my computer. Your remake of ‘The Thomas Crown Affair’ is my favorite movie.”

Napoleon stared. Tried to swallow and found his throat was suddenly uncooperative. He opened his mouth to speak and shut it again. How do you respond to something like that? He’d been trying to convince himself that Illya was horrible for weeks, trying to tell himself that Illya hated him so daydreaming about a mountain of thick muscle covered in acres of bare skin was a pointless waste of time. Only…Illya apparently doesn’t hate him.

“I…Um…”

Illya’s flush deepened. “I’m sorry. I…I realize that’s kind of creepy…Napoleon, you’re right. I am the problem here. I do have…well, I…I’m sorry. I’ll try to stop making this so hard for everyone. I can’t…I can’t lose this. This film is my one chance.”

Napoleon shook his head. “Of course, it’s not. Illy, you’re very good. You’re…intense. Quietly emotional. Genuine in a way that I haven’t ever seen before. This is most certainly not your only chance, but I’m sorry too. I haven’t exactly been making this easy on anyone either. I have been acting like a Legacy Diva. I promise I’m not normally…I just…I’m sorry. For everything I’ve said.”

Illya smiled at him tentatively. “Alright, then. We’ve both apologized. Do you think that Waverly will let us out now?”

Napoleon’s mouth curled into a small smile. “Doesn’t hurt to try.”

He pulled out his phone to text the Director.

 

———

 

“CUT! Jesus Christ! This is getting ridiculous.” Waverly stalked forward to stand between Illya and Napoleon, who both took a step back to make room for him. The director looked at them pointedly. “Whatever you did in that trailer last week stopped the fighting, but it made the sexual tensions a thousand times worse. What is it with you two? Either you both need to get laid more than is healthy or you want to fuck each other more than any two people I’ve ever met.”

Both actors were bright red and looking anywhere but at each other. Someone behind the cameras snickered. Illy glared darkly in the direction of the noise. 

“That’s it. I’m calling it for the day. Go home. Fuck. Each other or other people, but I want this gone. Or there will be consequences.”

Napoleon and Illya seemed rooted to the spot. Standing frozen as the rest of the cast and crew broke up for the day and wandered off. When the set was empty, Napoleon finally swallowed his pride and the lingering humiliation, and turned to Illya, whose face was the same dull read it had been when he’d admitted to owning ‘The Thomas Crown Affair.’ This nearly pulled a smile from Napoleon.

“So…what—“

“I’m sorry.”

Napoleon blinked. It was rushed and mumbled, but he’d thought he’d just heard Illya apologize. For what, he couldn’t fathom. “Er…What?”

The other chewed his lip for a moment and took a deep breath. “I’m sorry.” It was more pronounced this time.”

Napoleon frowned. “What on earth for?”

Illya shifted on his feet uneasily, looking anywhere but at Napoleon. His cheeks were even redder. “I…It’s…It’s just that…you’re so pretty, Cowboy.”

Now it was Napoleon’s turn to blush. “Excuse me?”

Illya closed his eyes as though not being able to see might make him invisible. “I…You’re an incredibly attractive man, Solo. I…You’ve been famous for a very long time, but you’re not that much older than I am. Only a few years. And I’ve seen your face staring at me from magazines since I was working the st-…odd jobs down in the slums. You’re beautiful and your body looks like it’s been carved out of marble. I can’t…I’m sorry. I can’t help it.”

Napoleon was a brilliant shade of red now, but he was scowling. Illya cringed, horrified by what he’d just admitted. He basically told the man that he used to wank over him as a teenager. “You’re telling me that you want to sleep with me?”

Illya swallowed hard. “I..um…yes?”

Napoleon blew out a sharp breath through his nose. “Christ, we’re both idiots. I’ve wanted you since the minute I walked into that reading room on the first day. You are absolutely breathtaking and you’re enormous. You’ve got easily three or four inches on me. Do you know how difficult it is to find a guy who sleeps with guys who is taller than me?” Napoleon realized he was sort of rambling, but Illya wasn’t moving. He was just gaping at him wordlessly. Napoleon finally managed to get control of his mouth and he swallowed. “May I kiss you then?”

Illya blinked once, twice. His hand was trembling when he brought it up to run through his hair. “God yes.”

Napoleon smiled.


End file.
